


Bars

by CinruCross



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, Animal Abandonment, Animal Abuse, animal experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 03:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19880539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinruCross/pseuds/CinruCross
Summary: tw!// Dog is experimented on/treated badly by "evil science humans"/abused in this work! Don't read it if that isn't something you can handle, because it is in first person POV and we get inside the pup's head. ALSO // mention and description of a dog hurting a pet bird.He just wants love and attention and pets.He's a good boy.





	Bars

Nothing stays here, and this is what makes me scared… I don’t want to be here. The two-legs here smell. They smell like mean things. I never liked this place and I’m pretty sure it holds me with some level of disdain as well. 

Why did I not stay where I was?  _ My boy was ever so upset… I bet he was sad. _ Maybe they would have come back for me if I did? 

Two-legs run about everywhere here. Thin, sloppy, white skins point out the most stinking ones. Sometimes, they’ll just prod at the harsh, cold metal bars that keep me cramped here in this cage. Other times they act like I’m not even there. When they want me, however, I know before they even come to the cage. The fever pitch that their individual scents rise to indicates intent well enough, though that is far from the only indication of their interest. Sometimes they will open the door to my cage a little, reach their hands in, seek out my black and white spotted fur with their imploring fingers while they utter soft words to me. I let them pet me, but when I shift my long limbs to stand and move closer to them, they quickly shut the cage and hurry away.

_ Why _ , I wonder.  _ Why do you run away? I would never bite you or try to jump on you. I know you two-legs hate that. My boy hated that, but I was not irritated at him for it. I don’t hate you, so please don’t run away. _

I’m afraid that sometime soon they’ll stop coming, stop just like my other two-legs did so suddenly, but these two-legs make me feel important. They definitely want me- for now, at least- so I know they’ll keep coming. They check in on me constantly, always peering through the cage’s bars and pouring fresh water and dry food into my two bowls. They come by to feed me, but I don’t know how long they will keep paying me attention.

The last ones certainly gave me no warning… and they took their caring attention with them after all that time. I have looked for them, or rather… I have tried to do so during my meager time here, but I can’t see a way out from my cage. I don’t think they’re here.

Before I was brought here to this cage, everything in the house of  _ my  _ two-legs started to smell mean, just like this place. The happenings in the house moved by in a blur, things were stacked upon things- they even forgot to feed me during one of those days. Gradually, the house became emptier and vibrated with the sound of their raised voices. My two-legs grew very mean-smelling, and I didn’t know what to do. They did not let me close to them for very long, always too busy, and after a while I just stopped trying to ask for pets, settling down in my bed and resting my chin atop my paws. _Why move that stuff out? Don't you need it here?_ One night, I fell asleep as I was watching yet another afternoon of hurriedly removing things from the house as it turned into a night full of shouting and closed doors.

When I awoke the morning after, the house was silent. This was almost as terrifying as the shouting.

Not long after the silence, the food in the house- all of it I could find, anyways- ran out.  _ Did they go on a long car ride and forget to ask the nice two-leg across the way to feed me? _ I found myself desperate, hunger a foreign feeling scraping at my belly, and managed to bash my way through the rear door after the fleeting image of a squirrel. The clear door was not hard to break, but it really hurt and I had to lay very still for a while to let the pain ebb. I considered going to the nice neighbor two-leg, but the open gate gave me another idea.

It didn’t take too long for me to make it to the bundle of buildings, scent of cooking things guiding my steps and bringing saliva dribbling down my spotted chin.  _ Food! I bet there are nice two-legs here too!  _ I ran, thin legs carrying me over the hard, hot ground.

Before I could even make it to the source of one of the scents, a high sound caught my attention. I turned, ears perking as I came to a curious halt at the whistle. A two-leg was there, a male one. He was crouched down, hands held out in welcome as he whistled at me. This set my tail wagging instantly, ears pressing back against my skull as I bustled up to him- only to find a tight cord suddenly curled around my neck.

A sharp pain stabbed into my hip, but I couldn’t turn my head. The world blurred almost immediately, my already weak limbs failing me. I felt myself hit the ground shoulder-first, skull and muzzle striking the pavement harshly, jaws hanging open.  _ The ground... _ I thought blearily as I found it progressively harder to keep my eyes open, my tongue lying against the hot concrete,  _ … it tastes so bad. _ When I next opened my eyes, I was penned behind the bleak cage door, feeling as if I could barf. 

This harsh, restricting metal is about as mean smelling as the rest of this place. It surrounds me, cold and bitter-tasting, unyielding in its efforts to trap me within it.

While I’m in here, I can almost smell the one who was in here last.  _ Is there a friend somewhere near? _ I thought to myself when I blinked my eyes open after the first sleep I took in this cage. Around me, there was little light. In my tiredness, the scent of sickness seemed to drift from the solid, chilled walls. At first, it scared me. I woke with sudden, sharp movements in the middle of the night-  _ what? No lights? Oh, the two-legs are asleep. But what is that smell? _

I stood up as well as I could in the cage, and my head smacked into the encumbering container’s ceiling. It hurt, but by the time I shook off the pain the smell of illness was gone as well. 

Where is  _ here _ , anyways? I am not sure, and there isn’t much here to guess against considering that I have not been outside of this place. It’s almost as if I am bound within a larger pen when I am let out of my cage. They don’t even trust me enough to let me off of the pulling cord.  _ I’ve already learned not to make a mess indoors,  _ I want to tell them when they clip the restricting cord of colorful fabric to the band around my neck.

This thing is called a leash; the two-legs use it to take me on fantastic things called  _ walks _ , though I cannot say I like the walks I have been getting recently. There is no warm sunlight on these walks, no playful running companions.  _ You can trust me. I will be nice to the children and let them play with my tail- so I do not need a leash inside. I will listen. Stay? Yes, stay I will. Sit? Yes, sit I will! _ But these two-legs do not seem interested in listening to me, even though I try my best to look attentively at them. I try to use a look that worked with my other two-legs. My boy, when he would let me have some of his attention, loved it when I listened, when I gave him my attention in return for his own.

I think I might be a better listener than these two-legs. I don’t blame them though. It took me a long while to understand listening too. When I was a little puppy, I used to really love chewing on everything but what my two-legs brought home for me. I learned to listen, realizing that only the things they give me are good for chewing and _not_ those things they wear on their feet. They even made up words just for me- just a few short commands. It made them infinitely happy when I obeyed these words. I miss them.  


These two-legs do not let me out of my cage for more than the small intervals needed to venture out into an enclosed area that smells vaguely of outside air… but the scent of freedom out here is masked by the pungent odors of the other canines. I don’t ever get to see them, though. I can only hear them while I am in my cage, but the walls keep me from greeting the fellows. They do make a lot of noise, and sometimes I join in.

The walk out to the stained, "outside" green area is one taken over many cold tiles. Sometimes I wonder where in this very big, very smelly house that these two-legs live. None of the many rooms I've been brought into smell like rooms where two-legs would like to sleep.

Two-legs do not like gross places, or smelly things, and most of the rooms here smell like gross smelly places. There were angry odors and frustrated fumes that floated and curled uncomfortably towards one’s sensitive nose in those rooms.  _ My nose is better,  _ I thought often, holding my spotted head high even against the pungent odors. I was proud of my nose. These two-legs, however, didn’t seem to care.  _ They are just quiet because they know my nose is better. _

These things haunted my own sensitive nose, but through the haze of bad smells I found the curiosity to wonder,  _ Can these two-legs even smell anything? _ during the second time I was on my way to the outside green area.  _ My two-legs would have made this big house smell better very quickly… I miss them so much. _

Sometimes I smell the smell that reminds me of the time the little, feathery Pete was resting on the back of the two-leg sitting cushion. This was called a couch, and I was always happy when I got to sit on it. Pete was very colorful. I always wanted to play with him, but my boy never let me. There was one time, however, when my boy left the room. I was alone with Pete, and so I did what I always wanted to do.

I played with him. I played all the fun kinds of games I enjoyed with my boy when we used the pull rope and the ball. Pete was feathery, and felt very much different than the rope, but I still enjoyed playing with him. Pete was different, though, and he started to smell weird during our game of tug-of-war, leaking something strangely invigorating as the game wound down. He stopped squirming and squawking, too. When my boy came back that time, he started getting very loud. He took Pete from the middle of our game-  _ we were just about to finish up that round, anyways-  _ and said words like  _ bad- _ but I was not  _ bad _ , I was just playing with Pete!  _ I suppose _ , I thought at the time, _ Pete was just not very enthusiastic about our game.  _ I still don't quite understand.  


Even the outside of this giant house had the bars. They were different than the bars on my cage despite the fact that it still felt as if I was in a cage while outside of mine. _It is very confusing._ The outside bars were tall and did not seem to have a door. But I know there is a door, as my two-legs had a set of outside bars around their green space too. One time I saw the door-  _ a gate, as it was called back at my previous home-  _ but the two-leg watching me outside ushered me back inside the moment I approached and nosed the little lever on it. He was very, very mean-smelling on our way back to my cage, not even looking down to me as he practically dragged me through the endless whitewashed halls, tiles cold beneath my dirty paw pads. As we walked, I stole glances at him.  _ You stink,  _ was what I wanted to tell him. _ You really do. _ Soon enough, we were back at my cage and he bundled me inside. The two-leg turned and moved off in a huff, wringing his hands worriedly against his belly.

I wonder, if I am here long enough, if they will let me sleep with them? I know I smell very nice, so maybe I could help them not smell so mean? If I curled up with them enough I could smudge away the mean smell- it worked with my boy.

My boy smelled mean once, but not like these two-legs… I have not smelled them smelling any way other than this way. It’s strange. I don’t like it. My two-legs did not smell the same all the time… and I have been here for a few days now!  _ Why do you all smell the same? _

This whole place smells mean. I do not like it.

I want to go home.

* * *

It has been so long.

My two-legs should have come to get me by now.  _ Why did I not wait for them? _ They always come back, so I should not be worried-  _ but I am very much worried. _ It will be good to see them, I will have to tell them about all the horrible, painful things these mean-smelling two-legs do. The ones in the white, sloppy skins have taken a strange kind of liking to me.

I don’t think I like this kind of liking, but these two-legs are  _ still _ horrible listeners. I whine, I cry, I voice my displeasure and pain, but they act as if I’m silent. The pain is intense and makes me cry out, jaws opening in low howls of agony. They stab into my paws with strange objects that are small enough to be toys, but will give a nasty sting if you try to sniff at their noses ( _ I know because I tried it the first time I met one- it was not a nice thing). _ The venom these mean little stabbing creatures have in their clear bodies is  _ cold _ , and I wonder why.

Sometimes, I cannot wonder- the pain is too present, too evident, to allow me the mercy of thoughts. All I can do is struggle and whine, though not once do I bite them. My two-legs taught me that biting is bad.  _ Bad dog! _ they would say, and I would run to my cage or roll over onto my back, exposing my belly and begging forgiveness. These two-legs are different, though. It seems like they  _ want _ a reason to send me to my cage; taking every opportunity to pull and press at me, testing my patient, friendly disposition. These two-legs don’t want me to turn over on my back, they don’t want me to beg for forgiveness. I know that. I tried to the first time they used one of their stabbing bugs on me.

* * *

Every day now the two-legs come to get me from my cage, but with no leash. The cage opens and I can barely raise my head. They say things, but none of the things are things that I know.  _ Sit? Stay? Come? Paw? Speak? _ They say none of these things.

It has been several weeks now, and I do not even trust my own four legs. They hurt, but at least the stabbing bugs like them. If I cannot please  _ my _ two-legs any longer, then I guess this is the only use for me.

_ I wonder how my boy is doing? Is he having fun with Pete? _

A mean-smelling two-leg in sloppy, white skin stands in front of my cage door. I can smell the stabbing bugs. They are very mean smelling, just like these two-legs here.

The two-leg before my cage moves off to the other side of the room, leaving the cage door open as he bends over something on the counter.  _ Open?  _ I slowly raise my head, one ear falling over one of my eyes. I see the other open doorway just as the two-leg leaves through a different one. I remember the way to the green outside area. I remember just the other day, the day I saw the latch on the outside area’s bars again.

The two-leg has not returned yet... and I can hear him in a neighboring room. He appears distracted.

Slowly, I shift my aching paws, raising my trembling body and gazing down to the floor that seems so far away.  _ It’s so far away… but I have to get back to them. My two-legs must be worried about me. _ I steel myself for the impact as I prepare to jump, aching legs wailing in protest at the job of supporting my too-thin frame.

The two-leg is still away.


End file.
